Forgiveness
by laperlenoire
Summary: Holden Caulfield gets a visit from the one person who could destroy, yet revive his world. Slash fiction.


**Author's note:** I would just like everyone to know this fanfiction features what I assume is a strange, unlikely, and probably disturbing pairing to most readers: Mr. Antolini/Holden Caulfield. I was planning to post an explanation as to why I wrote about them, but much to my disappointment, I couldn't post it since it's technically not fanfiction. (I don't want to get in trouble with the site.) But anyway, I still wanted to write about them, because I feel Mr. Antolini should be given a little more credit than what readers may give him. So, disregarding what Mr. Antolini _may_ have done to Holden, I hope you still have a quick read. And tell me if you'd like to read my explanation anyway, and I may post it as the next chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** J.D. Salinger owns  The Catcher in the Rye and his characters. I just like analyzing them.

* * *

 _Clop, clop, clop._

Two pairs of shoes pattered along white, speckled tile, the tapping of their soles echoing within the empty corridor. The walls were purely white, save for the hints of dim gray from the door knobs attached to each room and the room number plates that accompanied them. The spotless floor, polished to perfection, reflected the rows of blinding florescent lights that continued boundlessly along the ceiling. It was all too white and bleak—like a sanitarium.

The corridor was narrow, unable to fit two people walking side by side, so he trailed behind the man in the white coat as they traversed towards their destination.

It all seemed so empty, so discomforting. As they passed by doors on each side, no matter how much he strained his ears, only the eerie clopping of their soles resonated from the walls. The silence that followed the echoes continued to haunt these corridors in stillness.

Man, was this the kind of world the poor boy had to live in?

As time passed ever so slowly, the doctor finally paused in front of a door to the right. Room 1325. He turned back to face him. "Please wait a moment, Mr. Antolini." The latter nodding in agreement, the doctor lightly knocked on the door, waiting a few moments, before carefully opening it. He partially entered the room and addressed the person inside. "Holden, someone is here to see you." After a moment's pause, probably to receive approval from the patient, the doctor turned back to Mr. Antolini and said, "You can come in now."

"Thank you, Doctor." Mr. Antolini gradually pushed open the door and side-stepped into the room.

"If you need me, I'll be in my office," the doctor said.

Mr. Antolini nodded. "Thank you, again."

The doctor closed the door behind him, leaving only Mr. Antolini with the patient in bed right in front of him.

"Hello, Holden," he greeted amiably, removing his overcoat.

The latter was currently lying under the comforter, staring off into the ceiling. But his eyes seemed distant from the world. He spoke not a word.

"You mind if I take a seat, Holden?" He didn't get a reply, but he took a seat anyway on a plastic chair propped up by the door. He observed the room the boy lived in. Purely bleak and white, just like the corridor. There was barely anything in the room, save for the hospital bed Holden was lying on and a side table where he probably ate his meals and took medication. There were two florescent bulbs overhead, so bright it just enhanced the room's whiteness. Already Mr. Antolini didn't feel comfortable. It was like a box, only painted white in the interior to make it not seem so dark and cage-like.

He once again cast his gaze on the boy who inhabited this room. But the boy didn't even look at him.

Mr. Antolini sighed. It had been two years already since Holden suddenly left his apartment that one night. He told him to come back, and he meant it. He didn't intend to do anything to him. But Holden didn't even look back when he just fled and shut himself up in that elevator box, and he never returned.

He didn't want to admit it, but he worried about the boy. And the way he worried about him, wasn't between that of a teacher and a student. He had grown to care for him, to truly get to know him not only as a student (or rather, anti-student), but as a person. And what he had learned up until that night greatly interested him. Holden was…a complicated boy. Looking for things in the world that he will never find. Hunting for the one thing that would fulfill his ambitions but in the end, ripping apart everything that made up his world.

He suspected that Holden would eventually experience a terrible fall, but he didn't expect one as severe as this.

He hadn't heard from him in two months, and he decided to call his father, ask what happened. Maybe he forgot to come back. Maybe he's been out on vacation. But he certainly didn't expect his father to say, "Holden's in a hospital. A mental hospital." One in California, apparently, where his father was working.

Mr. Antolini wasn't sure what to say. Upon asking when Holden was admitted, his father answered that when he returned home the last day of the Pencey year, the parents already decided he needed to get a mental check-up. Failing classes deliberately, bumbling about phonies, inability to socialize, it seemed something was wrong.

Turns out they needed to admit him to the hospital because he couldn't properly function socially. Something was frightening him deeply. Something that stemmed from immense distrust of people, of adults especially.

Mr. Antolini figured Holden was weary of the people around him, but something must have triggered his mindset, pushed him over the brink to the point where he couldn't understand anything anymore.

And then, thinking back to the timeline when Holden was first admitted, he realized he was probably the last real friend Holden actually visited before he went insane. He knew of no other friend Holden had at his age, boy or girl, that he still kept a solid friendship with.

Did he do something to set Holden over the edge?

He thought about it, over and over again. He continued living his life, with his wife, his new-born son, his family, his job. But the thought still lingered every day.

Then one day he referred back to that night, the last night he saw him, before Holden suddenly panicked. Ah, he was drunk at the time. It was probably his third high-glass or so. But then he faintly remembered a strong sense of affection during his alcoholism, one that peaked dangerously when he saw his boy sound asleep on his couch. Suddenly he couldn't resist the temptation to give him a friendly pat on the head.

Mr. Antolini almost felt like laughing. He was so stupid. He shouldn't even have been near the boy when he was so drunk. He knew how much Holden hated the adult world and its constant mysteries. And there he was, drunk as an elephant, patting Holden on the head. He laughed to himself mentally, almost uncontrollably.

No wonder Holden couldn't handle it anymore.

With that one little touch he betrayed Holden beyond ways the boy couldn't imagine. He wasn't sure what he could do anymore at this point, having caused such a great mental downfall.

But that's why he was here. To ask him for forgiveness. To implore him to reunite their friendship. Holden cannot live anymore without someone to trust. Not at all.

But it didn't seem like Holden wanted anything to do with him. Probably thought he was one of the "phonies" he kept complaining about.

"It's a nice place here," Mr. Antolini said, leaning his head back on the wall. He scanned the room again. "I take it back. It's as boring as a piece of cardboard. I wonder how you could handle living in such a place."

He was met with silence.

"You been doing okay in here, Holden?" he inquired. "Have the people been nice? Do they feed you well? Were they able to help you with your little problem?"

Well, now that he looked at him again, Holden was quite a sight. Eyes glazed with fatigue, a little stubble growing, hair unkempt. It seemed a little longer than when he last saw him, too. His frame seemed thinner, as Mr. Antolini inferred from the bony, pale hands lying atop the comforter. He really did hope he was eating well.

Alas, but he wasn't getting an answer.

"Holden…" he sang. "Holden, my boy, I know you're in there. Come on, I just want to talk to you. I did come from across the country, you know."

Holden finally shifted and stirred in the bed. But much to Mr. Antolini's disappointment, he turned around to face the wall, back deliberately against his ex-teacher.

"Holden…"

Mr. Antolini sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You want to know why I'm here, don't you?" He took Holden's silence as a clear 'yes'. "Well, first of all, I called your father to ask about you. It's been two years since you just ran off like that, you know. It was shocking, to say the least, when he told me you were in a mental institution." He glanced at his ex-student's still figure. "I mean, I knew something was up, but this? Holden, what in the world happened to you?"

The silence prompted him to continue.

"Well, either way…I came up here for a certain reason," he said. "I wanted to apologize for what I did that night. I was drunk. I didn't think about what I was doing. I didn't think that what I thought was harmless would actually hurt you. I didn't mean anything by what I did, Holden. I'm not one of those phonies. I care very much for you, and I'd rather not let something like being in a mental institution change our friendship." He trained his eyes on his ex-student, silently begging him to listen. "Let me help you out, Holden. Let me be your guide."

Mr. Antolini hoped he could stir a reaction from the boy in the bed, finally reach out to him. But the boy continued to face the blank wall in front of him. Mr. Antolini pursed his lips. Why, why wasn't he saying anything?

He was fed up with this deliberate silence. He stood up and slowly stalked over to the side of Holden's bed. "Holden," he said. "Holden, listen to me, please." The boy was blatantly ignoring him at this point. He stretched out a hand and gently gripped his bony shoulder. "Hol—"

"Don't touch me!" Before Mr. Antolini could even blink, Holden had roughly slapped away his hand before he had himself pressed into a corner, glaring fiercely at his ex-teacher and crouching in a defensive position. "You goddam phony!"

"Holden." Mr. Antolini stood stricken.

"Stay away, stay away, goddam phony," Holden seethed as he picked up his pillow, seeming ready to chuck it at him. "You are the worst of them all! Get the hell away from me!"

"Holden, I don't understand. How about you quiet down—"

"Of course you don't. People never try to understand," Holden spat. "People never try to understand what they don't give a crap about. All they care about is themselves. All they care about is their own phony rules, their own phony minds, their own phony friends and company!" In a flash of anger he tossed the pillow straight at his offender, who was unfortunately too close to him to avoid the attack.

"Ugh!" Mr. Antolini groaned as the cloth-covered padding briefly suffocated him with a blow to the face, and he grabbed hold of the pillow. But not before becoming increasingly infuriated with the hysterical boy in front of him. "Holden, let's have a civilized conversation here," Mr. Antolini spoke sternly, gritting his teeth. "I will not tolerate this uncalled-for violence."

But Holden would rather not be civilized. Instead he lashed out at him, pummeling Mr. Antolini's pillow shield with fierce punches, one landing with a solid _wham!_ on the padding, but the other, Mr. Antolini realized, unable to create an effective blow due to its already damaged state. He briefly thanked the Gods for some kind of protection.

"Everything's wrong, _sir_ ," Holden placed venomous emphasis on each punch. "Everyone has betrayed me. Everyone collaborated together, plotted this evil scheme of phoniness together so they would send me to this goddam hospital!"

"Holden— _oof_ —what in the world are you talking about—"

"You're all out there planning to _destroy_ me!" Holden grabbed hold onto a stuffed bear and threw it at him. It bounced off the pillow with Mr. Antolini's strategic angling defense.

"God damn it, Holden, you're getting it all wrong!" Mr. Antolini was growing tired of his fist barrage. Sooner or later his pillow will wear down and his face will no longer be protected. He decided to take the offensive.

Surging forward, he tossed the pillow to block off Holden's last punch before using the split second of no attacks to grab hold of his wrists and knock him onto the bed.

"Let me go! Get offa me, you goddam moron!" Holden kicked out from under him, but Mr. Antolini's larger body was like a boulder he couldn't fend off. "God damn it, I said get offa me!"

"Not until you quiet down. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Mr. Antolini pinned Holden's wrists above his head, effectively holding down the writhing boy trying to escape.

"You're such a liar! Don't pretend to care about me when you don't care at all!"

"But I do care about you, Holden! How could you say I don't?"

"You're no different from the others!" Holden cried out. "You're the mastermind of them all! You told me I was going to fall, and now I've truly fallen! It's your fault! It's your entire fault I'm like this! Goddam moron!"

Now Mr. Antolini was starting to become really confused.

"Holden, I cannot understand. Is this not about what happened that other night?"

"I don't care about what happened that night! That's insignificant to all this!"

"Well, then." If it wasn't because of that night, then… "What did I do, Holden? What did I do that was so wrong?"

Fortunately, Holden was running out of steam. The fury dissipated from his eyes, and he was panting from his hollering, but Mr. Antolini could still feel the anger churning within him. He flinched as Holden glared up at him.

"You are the phoniest of them all! You pretended to care about me, gave me all this phony advice about humanity and falling and all these crazy things but you have done nothing for me!"

"Holden," Antolini frowned. "Nothing?"

"Nothing for me! What have you done to save me from this terrible fall you foretold? You tell me not to pursue this path that will lead me to doom but you did nothing to help me!" Suddenly, Holden broke into sobs. "I imagined myself falling so many times after that. I walk off a curb, and suddenly I'm plummeting into a goddam abyss with no end! I constantly pray, pray to my brother Allie to save me, to help me back up, but I'm just falling, falling, falling! Then I'm back on the curb, but then the cycle just continues again!" Tears were now streaming down his face. "I'm falling, falling, falling, I see myself falling after I hear your cursed words, but there's nothing I can do!

"And I just don't know what's wrong with me!"

Spent from his outburst, Holden slumped back onto the bed, as if his fighting spirit just flew out of his body. Mr. Antolini, on the other hand, was speechless. He needed the few moments of following silence to just _think_ … Think about Holden's words. Sighing in exasperation, he ran his fingers through his hair again.

Understanding this boy was unnecessarily difficult.

Forget his words. Forget his thoughts. Holden was still a human being, and if words can't express internal conflict, then the subtle physical reactions can.

He observed the boy again, this time truly looking at him. Tired-looking eyes, a little stubble growing, hair unkempt. But his face told a whole different story. It was contorted into pain and misery, years of isolation and solitude and self-deprecation bubbling in a pot finally boiling over into his consciousness, his self-esteem, and his whole being.

Mr. Antolini felt a strange tug on his heart strings, and a warmth flooded into his chest—sympathy. Holden really was human, as human as everyone else. He felt emotion, pain, anger, depression, disbelief. His current vulnerable state revealed that as clear as day.

This boy trembling beneath him had truly fallen, didn't he?

The poor boy could not explain his pain and misery. But all he knew was that it finally overwhelmed him, collapsed onto him. Now he's living clueless, clueless as to living in this crazy world, clueless as _tabula rasa._ What could he do, now?

Mr. Antolini thought back to his previous goal of reuniting his friendship with Holden. He was right. Holden needed his friendship more than anything else. Someone who actually accepted him as the crazy boy he was. Someone to trust. Yes, trust, he knew, was an important factor for Holden. Man, if only he didn't get so drunk that time. Holden might have held on a little longer.

Then, without thinking, Mr. Antolini caressed Holden's cheek with the backside of his fingers. He almost withdrew when Holden's eyes flashed, but Mr. Antolini remained steadfast. He wanted to show Holden he was not as heartless as he thought he was… Much to his relief, Holden didn't lash out at him.

Mr. Antolini spoke softly, "I'm sorry for that other night. I didn't mean to do anything to you. I just, got a little drunk…"

Holden had turned his head to the side, eyes staring blankly at the wall, and was unresponsive. But Mr. Antolini continued.

"And about that terrible fall I told you about. It was a warning. I wanted you to take it to heart so you can pursue better things in life, not like the phoniness of life. You don't need an education like everyone else. You don't need to enjoy the same things as everyone else. But it will not help to just hate everyone who isn't like you. You have to discover what you like about yourself and find those who share it. I know you and I like similar things, and I wanted to pursue that with you. I didn't want you to fall." He slid his thumb over Holden's cheek in familial affection. He felt a slight dampness to it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, though. Man, if only you didn't just run out of the house that one night…But either way, I want to help you out, Holden. I want to be there for you now. You're not a student to me now, but a little brother. Please let us be friends, Holden."

He looked down at the boy, to see any change in his features. Holden still had that blank gaze, appearing to not listen to a word he said. But when Mr. Antolini saw a teardrop forming in the corner of his eye, he knew he was listening… Yet, his lack of words still disappointed him. He wanted to solidify this opportunity for bonding he offered to Holden, so Holden can finally heal. But perhaps he pushed it a little far this time. Again.

Mr. Antolini sighed softly. "Think about it a bit, okay?" He released his loosening grip on Holden, and climbed off the bed. He trudged towards the chair where he laid his overcoat, grabbing it before slipping it on. "And sorry for holding you down. I wanted to make sure no one got hurt." He waited a few more moments by the door for Holden to say something, but from the emanating silence, he decided he might as well leave. He tried. What more could he expect? He cracked open the door. "I'll see you later, Holden. Hopefully."

He stepped out of the room, refraining from looking back unless he wanted to continue wallowing in his pit of disappointment. Before he could go any further, though, someone called out behind him, "Wait." Mr. Antolini paused. He turned around, but before he could utter a word of inquiry, the boy was in front of him, standing so close he could feel the heat emanating from his body. Mr. Antolini regarded him questioningly, but what Holden did next shocked him.

Holden hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth in uncertainty, but then with as much confidence as a soldier ready to fight for what he cherishes, he kissed Mr. Antolini tenderly on the cheek.

The latter's eyes widened considerably, and suddenly _he_ was the one who was greatly confused in this peculiar situation. He just stood there, unsure how to react. And just as quickly as the kiss happened, Holden pulled away.

Mr. Antolini blinked away his shock, touching his affected cheek. "Holden."

"Good-bye, Mr. Antolini," Holden muttered as he immediately turned away, rushing to his bed before climbing onto it. He lay facing the wall, and he made no move, no sound.

Mr. Antolini stared at the figure on the bed a while longer, curious. Finally, he just chuckled to himself. "Good-bye, Holden," he said, and he stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Once he quietly shut the door, Mr. Antolini slumped onto the wood, head leaning back. He let out a small sigh. What a strange, strange boy. He let his hand wander through his hair, and a small smile cracked through his tired features.

"Holden, you are a very, very strange boy."

As he strolled back down the corridor, though, the bleak whiteness of the walls seemed to shine with a little more hope for the both of them.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I was planning a sequel to this…further establishing when they meet again and how Mr. Antolini helps Holden deal with his distrust of people. Sound like a good idea?


End file.
